He liked milk in his coffee because he liked to watch it stir up when he touched it. And maybe that’s why he liked me. Because he sure as hell liked to watch me crumble as his fingers trailed across my skin. Just like his coffee he would brush his lips against me and drink me in. I didn’t realize the lightness I felt around him was him taking away my spirit and then leaving me on the ground as you leave an empty coffee cup in the sink. And that’s all I was to him, another empty coffee cup that needed to be washed. Only to be put away with the others and pulled out for another day. But until then I would sit in the darkness and watch him choose others over me day after day; an empty coffee cup on his shelf.